The road ran through the woods
and along the high bluff that overlooked the river. He did not know it,
but this same road was a "short cut" to the macadam pike farther south.
By taking this route the robbers gave Boggs City a wide berth.
Blake's mind was full of the possibilities of disaster to the
over-confident fugitives. The washout was fresh, and he was counting on
the chance that they were not aware of its existence. If they struck it
even at half speed the whole party would be hurled a hundred feet down
to the edge of the river or into the current itself. In that event,
some, if not all, would be seriously injured.
As he neared the turn in the road, his course pointed out to him by the
stars above, he was startled half out of his boots by the sudden
appearance of a man, who staggered from the roadside and wobbled
painfully away, pleading for mercy.
"Halt, or I'll shoot!" called Jackie Blake, and the pathetic figure not
only halted, but sat down in the middle of the road.
"For the Lord's sake, don't shoot!" groaned a hoarse voice. "I wasn't in
cahoots with them. They fooled me--they fooled me." It was Anderson
Crow, and he would have gone on interminably had not Jackie Blake
stopped him short.
"You're the marshal, eh? The darned rube--"
"Yes, I'm him. Call me anything, only don't shoot. Who are you?" groaned
Anderson, rising to his knees.
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